When I get bored
by Neo.Natalie
Summary: John was sitting in his room, minding his own business, when suddenly his mobile buzzed.
1. Chapter 1

John was sitting in his room, minding his own business, when suddenly his mobile buzzed.

"Bored. SH" John frowned.

"Where did you get my number? JW"

"Sent a text to myself when I borrowed your phone. SH"

"Why? JW"

"In case I got bored, obviously. Do you want to play a game? SH"

"What kind of game? JW"

"I start a sentence and you finish it. SH"

"Ok, get it on. JW"

"The jumper I'm wearing is…"

"dark blue."

"I like it because…"

"it's comfortable and warm."

"(It also compliments the colour of your eyes.) Today, my shift at the hospital was…"

"exhausting, as always. (Why, thank you.)"

"(You're welcome.) Now I'm tired and want to…"

"take a hot bath, I guess."

"(But you don't have a tub.) Then I would finish the evening by..."

"falling asleep in front of the TV. (No, unfortunately not.)"

"(You don't have a TV either.) My favorite film to fall asleep to is…"

"Titanic! xD (You wrote 'would…')"

"(Oh, you paid attention. :) and good choice!) Today, the colour of my pants is…"

"red."

"Damn, didn't want to write that. JW"

"^^ I wear them because…"

"they are my lucky pants. (Ok, did I just tell a stranger I got red lucky pants?)"

"(I'm not a stranger.) I hope they will get me laid tonight…"

"That already IS a complete sentence!"

"No, it isn't. It doesn't have a full stop at the end."

"... but I know I won't. (Satisfied?)"

"(Why so pessimistic?) Women think I am cute because..."

"of my eyes? (Not pessimistic, realistic more like.)"

"…and…"

"most women are into men in uniforms."

"(So you wear them in the bedroom a lot?) When I go out on a date, I... "

"make sure to pay the woman many compliments. "

"(No answer to my question? Fine…) When I finally get them to sleep with me…"

"I don't think that way about women."

"Ok, I'll rephrase that one: When, after about 300 compliments and 30 dates, 18 paid meals and much flirting and begging on the woman's side, I agree – gentleman that I am – to bed the woman, I.."

"am often very gentle, but more often than not surprise them with a damn good shag against the bedroom wall. (I wouldn't go on more than 28 and a half dates, by the way. ;)"

"(So you DO give away bedroom details, I just have to be a bit annoying.) When I touch myself, I think about... "

"boobs. (I like your sarcasm ;)"

"…and…"

"other female body parts."

"In the military, there were no women I liked, so I... "

"didn't date them."

"(Really, John?) When I have a moment on my own, I…"

"masturbate a lot."

"(Do you want to give me a heart attack?) I could imagine masturbating in my red pants, because…"

"they are really tight? You sure you mean 'in'? (When you last expect it ;)"

"(I have a thing for clothed sex.) When I get a hard-on in them, you can clearly see the outline of my penis through it…"

"obviously."

"(That's MY word.) That turns me on and…"

"women as well. (Really? Sorry, didn't know that. ;)"

"(Now you're doing it on purpose!) So I imagine myself wearing my tight red pants and my military outfit and then I…"

"realize that Sherlock must like this as well."

"(Good observation.) If he was here with me right now…"

"he would wonder why I wasn't wearing that. (Want to help me work on my 'observation skills'? ;) "

"(Tease.) If Sherlock was with me right now and I was wearing that, I would…"

"like him to wear a tight shirt, like he did the other day."

"My first experience with a man was…"

"when my Dad walked in on my masturbating."

"(Ew, I hope that was as far as it went.) The first time a guy touched my cock was when…"

"I touched my cock."

"Cockblock."

"Why? That WAS quite sexy. Made me come, actually."

"Do you like it slow?"

"That's not the beginning of a sentence."

"I like it slow because…"

"women tend to like that."

"(If you write 'women' one more time, I'm going to kill you!) I like it rough and quick…"

"because it makes me come so hard. (Why so violent? ;)"

"(Guess what else is hard right now.) I touched another man's cock when…"

"I couldn't help it."

"ARGH!"

"Didn't write 'women'… wait, now I did… come over then?"

"You're into… no, wait… I'm into violence, especially…"

"if it includes spanking or breath play. (Don't forget the riding crop ;)"

"I have never slept with nor dated a guy and only touched a man's cock when there was no (good) woman around in the military, yet I am interested in Sherlock Holmes, because…"

"he's different."

"And by different I mean…"

"Beautiful… and intelligent…"

"The eyes, I guess. I feel like they can see right through me."

"What's your address?"

"34 Bloomgate street. Oh and the cheekbones!"

"OMW."

"And the lips! How could I forget the lips? Wrapped around my cock…"

"Hold on, right there!"


	2. Chapter 2

During the interchange with Sherlock, John had started to feel an increasing heat between his legs. When the detective had asked John why he liked him, this heat had been joined by a familiar warmth in John's stomach. Describing Sherlock's beauty had done something with the former army doctor which hadn't happened to him in ages.

Yes, it was true that the fumbling with other men in Afghanistan had only been the result of absent interesting (or interested) women. It was also true that he had always made sure that everybody knew he was straight. But he had also always known that he would make an exception if the "right guy" came along. Maybe this was because he could never get it quite right with a woman. Maybe it was because, as a doctor, he was very aware of his prostate. And he and hadn't been able to keep himself from "experimenting" with it. And this had felt oh so good! Of course, some women had been willing to finger him during intercourse. But he could never keep himself from wondering how something bigger would feel like in there. And how it would feel like if the other person would enjoy anal just as much as he did.

But John didn't know what to expect from Sherlock. Would he just turn up for some dirty sex and then leave again? Would there be snogging and whispered nothings in the dark? Or a combination of both, lasting through the whole night and leaving John utterly wrung out, but helplessly happy, hoping for the beginning of something longer, something permanent? John shook his head. This was nonsense and he knew it. Someone like Sherlock Holmes wouldn't fall for someone like him, if he fell at all. And he couldn't imagine any "whispered nothings" from someone seemed to have already undressed him in his mind and kept a riding crop in the mortuary. The best John could hope for was a good shag, a shag which would possibly blow his mind.

But then he would have to be prepared! Hurriedly, the former army doctor got undressed and searched his suitcase for the red pants and fatigues. He sniffed his ankles and groaned. But no time for a shower, deodorant would have to do. When he was dressed and had made himself as presentable as possible in the bathroom, he took up his mobile again and typed a hurried message: "I'm ready, where are you? Am waiting for you ;) "

After ten minutes, there was still no reply. John could kick himself. He could have waited patiently, but no... He re-read his text. Did he sound desperate? Needy? John huffed, and started pacing the floor.

After half an hour, there was still no sight of Sherlock. John re-read all of their messages, searching for a clue for what could have delayed the detective. Finally, the last of Sherlock's texts caught his eye: "Hold on, right there!" Right where? Had Sherlock meant… but no, he couldn't have! But then the detective had seemed so full of himself on their first meeting that John wouldn't put it past him to actually get off on someone describing him.

John shook his head again. This was bloody bullshit! He really needed to get laid soon. The other man had played with him for a bit, because he was bored, that was all. Sherlock hadn't masturbated while texting him. And now something more interesting had come up and the detective had abandoned his new toy. And of course Sherlock wouldn't show up. John got out of his clothes, throwing the red pants all over the room in self-disgust. Sure, some gorgeous, brilliant creature would just show up in his life and provide him with amazing sex and all the affection he could ever wish for. As if something like that would happen to him.

Suddenly, John felt very tired. He just put on some boxers and a t-shirt and crawled under the blanket, too wrung-out to take a shower. But even though he was completely exhausted, he couldn't seem to find sleep. Anger and self-loathing was welling up inside of him. The only guy he could possibly fall for was the one he could end up sharing a flat with. Of course! And then the guy had nothing better to do than to wind him up completely. After they had only met once, for crying out loud! Of course! This was just his luck. Angrily, he pushed a hand between his legs and started rubbing furiously. It only took a few minutes before he silently came in his pants.

It was kind of disgusting just letting the stuff dry there, but he would clean himself up in the morning. Let that be a reminder that he would never be that stupid again. Let that be a punishment, so he would be very aware in the morning that he was NOT in love with Sherlock Holmes and that he would behave like a decent flat mate from now on. This might just work. John Watson drifted off into a dreamless sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

When John woke up the next morning, he felt like not getting up would be the better option. Even though he had jobs to apply for and a flat to see and... OH GOD NO to meet THAT man again. John buried his face in his pillow. He just wasn't ready for that! Maybe that apartment would be nice and then he would like to take it. And maybe it would be awful and then he would maybe also want to take it. Because everything could be better than this tiny room, right? He needed a proper kitchen, at least!

And ok, he would like to see that guy again. Even if it meant all John could do was look at him. And LISTEN to him. Oh God, he was doomed! John buried his head even deeper in his pillow.

Then his phone buzzed with an incoming message. John groaned, lifted his head out of the pillow and picked up his phone. "Couldn't make it yesterday. There was a case. Dinner? SH" John blinked, looked at his clock, then at his phone again, until he realized that Sherlock meant "Can I make it up to you by taking you out to dinner?" ... Or something like that. John groaned again. What should he do with that? This wasn't even a proper excuse!

He decided to ignore the message for the moment and got up to take a shower. When John was shaving, he realized: He would go to dinner with Sherlock Holmes! His mood improved slightly at that. Whistling, he put on his clothes, including one of his tighter jeans and a blue jumper. The one which complimented his eyes. When John realized what he was doing, he stopped whistling at once. Had he gone completely nuts? This guy was obviously just playing with him and he ENJOYED it? What was he, a bloody teenager?

But even though all logic spoke against it, John's good mood wouldn't subside. After finishing and sending three job applications, he decided to walk to 221B Baker Street. It would take him more than half an hour to get there, but some fresh air would do him good.

After limping along for 15 minutes, John realized that this was not a good idea after all. His leg was already more painful than it had been for days. Even his walking stick wasn't much comfort to him when the pain was bad. And the pain was always bad. But John H. Watson was not someone to give up. So he made the rest of the way on foot, even though he was cursing himself on every step. And not only himself. He would meet Sherlock, alright, because he had promised to (kind of). And because he had already made half of the distance. But that was that. There was no way he would move in with this heartless prick. Who would turn him on like hell, even pay him compliments, and then leave him to rot. "Not with me!", John grumbled.

Sherlock was already waiting for him, a smile on his face. The moment John saw him, his anger started to crumble. I case had come up yesterday so of course the detective had to abandon the idea of coming over. Work always comes first; John could understand that. And Sherlock hadn't PROMISED him anything, so there had been no need for an apology.

Then John met Mrs. Hudson and all traces of anger disappeared. She was such a nice woman! She even made him tea and brought him some biscuits (when he asked for them). John had always wanted a mother like that. He could understand, of course, why HIS mother wasn't like that. Bringing five children up all on her own was hard work after all, and you couldn't be all milk and honey while doing that. But John's grandmother had died when he was still little and he had always imagined her like that: Sweet to her loved ones but not putting up with any shit from whoever wanted to harm them.

The flat was a mess, of course, but John only pretended to mind that. It was Sherlock's mess, after all! And John just loved the way the detective flustered and murmured "Could have smartened that up a bit." Then Sherlock was gone again and John had a moment to sit down, enjoy his tea… Then Sherlock was back again in only a minute, which was even better.

Because this was the moment the real fun started. Running all over London, following Sherlock, catching criminals! Of course, John complained, but he also made sure to keep well behind the detective, pretending he could see the other man's ass through his long coat. John was really doomed!

Then there was dinner and it was so different from what John had expected. The food was good, the table romantic – even though he had made sure the waiter knew that they weren't a couple – and there had been the one or the other intense stare on Sherlock's side, which had made John shiver. Those eyes! But then the detective had said that he was married to his work and had left John completely confused. Yes, maybe his flirting had been a bit too obvious. But then Sherlock had reacted to that! Maybe the detective was just shy in public? But Sherlock didn't seem shy!

Then there had been more running and John forgot what he had been thinking about. When they arrived back at Baker Street, laughing and panting, John felt more alive than ever before. And when he what they had been doing if Sherlock already knew the guy they were following wasn't the murderer, the detective answered: "Oh just passing the time and proving a point." "What point?", John asked. "You," Sherlock answered. And for a moment, John thought this was it. Now the detective would snog him against the wall and tell him that he loved and/or wanted him.

But then there was a knock on the door and John found out that Sherlock had just been talking about his leg! "Damn my leg," the former army doctor thought. But he laughed when he got his walking stick back, which he had forgotten at the restaurant. He had been running all over London without it! So Sherlock was a miracle worker as well!

John thought this the perfect opportunity to finally kiss the detective, but the other man had already gone back to his case. John sighed. "I'll be upstairs, then, taking a nap," he shouted towards the living room. No answer. Fine. This wouldn't keep him from having his first wank in his new apartment!


	4. Chapter 4

John was half out of his trousers already when his phone buzzed. He frowned. This wasn't Sherlock, was it? But that would be a bit strange, he could just call out from downstairs. And then given what John was about to do...

The former army doctor bent down to get his phone out of his trousers pocket. But after he had finally fumbled it out of his pocket and brought it up to his face, he almost dropped it again. Incoming message from Sherlock... He pulled himself together and opened his message. Probably something like "come down John, I've solved the case"...

"Don't come yet, John, I'm not even half hard. SH" John's eyes almost bulged out of their sockets. He re-read the message. And re-read it again.

"John, stop stalling, I've got a treat for you. SH"

"What kind of treat? JW"

"Silk boxers."

"Should I come down then?"

"No, stay where you are. Just imagine how soft they would be under your touch."

"Another game then?"

"Yes. We can't let you come like last time. That was horrible."

"How do you… oh wait, I don't want to know."

"Don't worry, I don't know the details. Just that it wasn't very… rewarding. But you can keep on blushing. I like it when you're flustered. "

"I like it when you're flustered, too. But can we get back to the game, please?"

"(I'm never flustered.) So why are you still that dressed?"

"Because I can't type with one hand. Hang on a sec." John finally got rid of his trousers and, after a short fight with his jumper, sat down on the freshly made bed.

"Now we're talking. No need to be angry with your pants, by the way, it wasn't their fault."

"They felt ridiculous."

"They are never ridiculous. Neither are you. Which colour are you wearing today? Think I caught a glimpse of white before."

"White, yes. Pretty boring, actually."

"Oh, nothing with your ass in it is boring. Wish they were tighter, though."

"Yours are tight, then?"

"Always. Grey and tight. Sometimes the silk on my cock alone makes me horny."

"What do you do then? Walk around with a boner all day?"

"Hiding is one thing my cloak is good for. Besides, I've masturbated in some weird places."

"Do I want to know?"

"Oh, not anywhere near a corpse, don't worry. But you wouldn't believe how hard it is to get a proper orgasm in my brother's car."

"…"

"NOT with him watching. God, you're awful."

"Well, if you're in his car, wouldn't it make you think of… him?"

"No, he would never catch me."

"So you like the thought of getting caught."

"Who doesn't? Not by him, of course. But Gregory, for example."

"Lestrade?"

"Can't compete with a military uniform, of course, but police uniforms are good as well."

"I bet he would punish you."

"… for masturbating in his office while waiting for him. Of course. But you could punish me so much better."

"Are you hard?"

"Like a rock."

"Me too. Tell me more. Do you want me to spank you?"

"Oh, yes. Want you to pull me on your lap and touch me, then pull me over your lap and spank me."

"With your boxers still on."

"Hm. And your pants. I would still feel you through the fabric."

"Oh God."

"Turned you speechless already? ;)"

"Not yet. I would love to tease you, not spanking you very hard at first."

"I would beg you to give me more."

"Then I would pull your boxers down, but only so far that I can see your ass. And then spank you properly."

"Oh, so good. Do you enjoy the sight of my ass?"

"Pretty much. You got your cock out?"

"No, I'm rubbing myself through the boxers. Want me to take them off?"

"Please. Want you to touch yourself properly. Make yourself come."

"Not yet. But I'm pretty wet."

"Wet? You're not secretly a woman, are you?"

"Great… now you made me blush. I just leak so much that I actually feel… wet."

"Wow, wish I could see that."

"Me blushing or me leaking?"

"Both. So desperate on my lap. Enjoying it, but it's not quite enough, is it?"

"No, I need more. Hit me harder."

"Whatever you want. I'm leaking too, by the way. But you're right, the friction is quite nice like that."

"With your pants on? It's amazing. And I enjoy seeing that wet spot through your pants."

"Yes, and it's getting bigger. Do you want me to finger you?"

"Oh yes, please. But be rough. Just push one finger inside and find my prostate."

"Oh God, yes. Gonna make you moan. Are you loud in bed?"

"Don't know, I never make it that far. ;) But yes, I'm quite noisy."

"Wish I could hear you know. And see you. With your hand on your dick. Bet I would come at once."

"God, yes. I wish I could see you too. Bet you are a sight coming in your pants."

"Can't remember the last time I did. But might just happen tonight."

"Oh God, yes! Let it happen. Am so close already."

"I bet you are. Wriggling like that on my lap, your cock rubbing against mine. With my finger up your ass."

"Yes, right there. That's the spot. Oh John, your dick feels huge."

"It is quite big, but I bet yours is longer."

"But yours is thick, I take it? Must feel amazing against mine."

"Don't stop talking! I just… can't type… have to…"

"God, yes. I'm pushing against your cock and your hand now. Moaning loudly. So close. Come John, come with me! Yes, yes, oh God yesssssss, JOOOOOOOOOOOOOHN!"

"John?"

"Sherlock."

"You alright?"

"That was brilliant."

"Did you come?"

"Yes, so hard. I've never come so hard in my pants before. That felt so good, you on me and my hand up your arse. I guess you would have felt me coming if you had been on top of me, it was really a lot. Sorry, can't stop talking."

"Sherlock?"

"Sorry."

"What's wrong, Sherlock?"

"I somehow never manage to come first."

"What? You mean… do you mean… I mean, have you…?"

"Yes, John. Nobody can describe an orgasm as beautifully as you."

"Thanks, I guess. You give the strangest compliments."

" Didn't you want to take a nap? Maybe I'll do too."

"Will do. "

"Sleep well, John."

"You too, Sherlock."

"And Sherlock?"

"Yes, John?"

"You are very VERY beautiful and sooner or later I'm gonna eat you up."

"Sleep now. You are drunk on hormones. ;)"


	5. Chapter 5

When John woke up from his nap, he was in a terribly good mood. He got up and almost ran down the stairs, taking two at a time. "Sherlock are you…?"

John stopped mid-sentence when he saw the detective perching over a pink suitcase. John recognized the colour at once. The dead woman they had examined earlier that day had worn this shade of pink. "Is that...?"

"The dead woman's suitcase, yes, obviously. But there has to be something else, something I've missed...", Sherlock said, digging even deeper into the case.

John thoughtfully watched the detective's ass wriggling in front of him. If he could just slap it before promising Sherlock to help him search for another clue?

Instead, the former army doctor cleared his throat and asked: "Where did you get the suitcase anyway?"

"Oh, found it in a skip when you were busy flirting with Lestrade, and had it sent here by cab. It wasn't hard to find, given the rather shocking colour."

John frowned. "I certainly wasn't 'flirting' with Lestrade. You are probably speaking of the time when I was busy limping down the stairs and trying to figure out which way you went without bloody TELLING me."

"No reason to get upset, John. You asked Donovan, what did you expect? If you had used your own senses, it wouldn't have taken you half an hour to catch up with me."

John wondered for a moment if this was a compliment or not, then decided to let it go for the time being. "What about her mobile? Didn't you want to find that? There could be a clue on there, maybe?", he asked instead.

Sherlock suddenly leapt to his feet. "Of course! John, you are brilliant!"

John frowned. "Really?"

"The murderer has it. I've figured that out before, of course…"

"So I've texted a murderer for you? And how do you know the murderer has her mobile?", the former army doctor interrupted. He felt slightly overwhelmed and unable to keep up with the detective's brain.

Sherlock sighed. "She wouldn't leave something so important behind; she's a business woman after all. Haven't you seen the way she DRESSED? But you remember the word she had tried to write with her fingernails, in the last moments of her life? Rachel?"

"Yes, but what does that have to do with her phone? The password, maybe? But that won't help us; we don't have the phone…"

"Come on, John, you are almost there!", Sherlock barked.

"Not even close," the former army doctor grinned, "but maybe with a bit of an effort from you…"

The detective just frowned and ignored the comment. "It's not her MOBILE'S password, of course. She doesn't have a laptop, so her mobile must be email enabled. Rachel is the password for her email account. What does it say on the suitcase's label?"

Suddenly, John felt foolish. He reached down to read the label and told Sherlock the email address which was written on it. The detective entered it into his laptop, but just when he had put the password in as well, there was a knock on the door.

Even before one of them could answer, a group of police men entered, including DI Lestrade.

"What do you want here?", Sherlock barked, "you can't just come in here! We are working."

"Drug's bust," Lestrade exclaimed.

"Don't be ridiculous!", John said. "A man like him? I bet you could search every corner of the flat and not find anything which you could call 'recreational'."

"John, don't," Sherlock warned and stared down at the smaller man.

"What? You?" John couldn't believe it. Sherlock? Drugs? With a brain like his? Drugs?

But then, the detective's stare intensified and John went quiet. There was something sensual in this stare. As was in the knowledge that there might be a side of Sherlock which he didn't know yet. Which maybe nobody knew. A dark side.

"You can't just withhold evidence, Sherlock," Lestrade interrupted John's thoughts. "I've let you in on this case, but this doesn't mean you can TAKE OVER."

"Oh, come on, Lestrade," the detective huffed, "you just came here on the off-chance to catch me red-handed. Covering with a 'drug's bust', just in case I wasn't home and/or didn't let you in. But actually you just like to pretend to be in control and can intimidate anyone with your police 'minions'."

At this moment, Mrs. Hudson came in, telling them there was a taxi outside for Sherlock. After one look at his laptop screen, the detective rushed out and left the now very annoyed detective inspector, who started his verbal onslaught on John: "It is still illegal to withhold evidence. You should know that, John. If there's anything in this suitcase which can lead us to the murderer and we can't catch him before he strikes again, just because Sherlock is so bloody stubborn that he wants to solve this case all by himself…."

But the former army doctor didn't listen anymore. He looked at the laptop screen, as Sherlock had done before. And there was something on it which looked like a map. But then John looked more closely and saw a small red dot blinking exactly at 221B Baker Street... and then leaving it slowly. A tracker of… the phone? The phone the murderer had? It must be in the taxi... so whoever was in the taxi, or even driving the taxi must be the murderer! And Sherlock hadn't come back, so he had to be with the murderer right now!

Suddenly, John's mind narrowed down to only one point: he had to get to Sherlock! Before the murderer could do anything to him. John didn't even think of asking the detective inspector for help. He simply grabbed the laptop and rushed out of the apartment, muttering an excuse to Lestrade. John felt light-headed, a feeling he knew very well from his days in Afghanistan. It was like his whole body was shaking with adrenaline; even his head seemed to be throbbing and he had to concentrate very hard to think of what to do next. A weapon. First of all he needed a weapon. The one in his own flat was too far away. But there were two police officers in front of 221B Baker Street. Each of them was carrying a handgun.

So John walked towards them, trying to look as helpless as possible. He could already hear steps on the stairs. Lestrade must have decided to follow him, finding his sudden exit strange. John didn't have much time. He cleared his throat and moved closer to one of the officers. "Excuse me, can you tell me what this is all about? I've just moved here and I don't even know Sherlock very well. And now he just left..." He trailed off, blinking in mock helplessness. One of the officers smiled at him and said: "Oh, don't worry. He pulls off stuff like this all the time. But he's not dangerous."

The steps were almost there now. With another murmured excuse, John grabbed the officer's weapon and ran for it. A cab. He needed a cab now. John was running down the road into the direction he had seen the red dot disappearing. Somehow he managed to hold the open laptop in one hand while stuffing the weapon into his trousers with the other. Behind him, he heard shouts and running steps.

In the distance, John saw a cab coming towards him. "Taxi!", he shouted as loud as he could and stepped directly onto the road. Luckily, it was a quiet night and there no cars. The cab came to a halt directly in front of him. John jumped in. After a swift glance at the laptop screen, he started shouting directions at the driver. Blood was pumping through John's brain and his only fear was that they could loose the cab Sherlock was in. But they caught up to the red dot easily, as the roads were almost empty.

Suddenly, the red dot stopped moving, right in front of an empty building. John jumped out of the cab. He almost threw his money at the driver, and then hurried off with Sherlock's laptop. After only a few paces, he realized that the tracker wouldn't help him anymore as the map was too big. So he left the laptop behind a tree and ran into the building, taking the gun out of his trousers.

At first, John thought he would never find the detective or that he was already too late. Then he saw Sherlock and another man through a window. They were in a part of the building which was directly opposite from John. The detective was holding something in his hand. From the distance, the former army doctor couldn't be sure, but it looked like a pill. Just like the pill the other victims had taken! John had almost forgotten that the case at first hadn't been treated as a murder case because it had looked so much like suicide.

"No, Sherlock!", he shouted. But either the detective couldn't hear him or he pretended that he couldn't. Sherlock moved the hand with the pill in it closer to his mouth. John didn't hesitate any longer, but raised the gun, aimed at the stranger and pulled the trigger. The bullet hit the stranger in the head. The man fell over and disappeared from John's sight.

John ducked and ran back to where he had left Sherlock's laptop, even though his first instinct was to check if the detective was all right. His heart was still beating like crazy, but his hands didn't shake. He had just killed a man. But Sherlock was safe now. It had been self defense; surely this would count as self defense, wouldn't it?


	6. Chapter 6

"Hello, John," a voice came from behind the tree. John almost jumped and turned around as quickly as he could. What he saw was a tall, broad-shouldered man with a thin-lipped smile on his face and an umbrella in his hand.

"Seems like I'm a bit late to get my brother out of this mess, but I am glad that you could make it," the man remarked.

John only stared at him. "Your… brother?"

"Yes," the stranger smiled, "didn't he tell you about me?"

The former army doctor just shook his head.

"Oh, how terribly impolite of me," the stranger said and held out his hand, "My name is Mycroft, Mycroft Holmes."

"John Watson"

"Oh, I know, John, I know." Mycroft winked at him.

"But HOW do you know?", John asked.

"Oh, I have a MINOR position in the British government, you know. Will help us to clear up the mess my dear brother has put us all in."

"Us?"

"Oh, you wouldn't think I would let them put charges against you, would you?" Mycroft said, "It would be a shameful waste of your precious time. As you seem to have put it on yourself to look after my brother. You will be busy enough with that."

John laughed. "Oh, he can be exhausting sometimes, you are right there."

"Oh, he can be quite something," Mycroft nodded, "That's why I thought maybe a financial... incentive might be in order."

The former army doctor raised an eyebrow. "For looking after your brother."

"Yes, and give me an occasional… update, you might say. On what he's up to, how he is getting on, that sort of thing," the other man explained.

"You want to give me money for spying on your brother?"

"Oh, I wouldn't call it spying..."

"However you call it, I won't do it!", John exclaimed.

"You are very loyal, very quickly," Mycroft remarked.

"Oh, you think so?", John shot back, suddenly angry. Who did this guy think he was? John certainly wasn't HIS little tin soldier! "You don't even know if I will move in with him!"

"Oh, I'm sure you will," Mycroft said confidently.

"What makes you so sure?"

"Give me your hand."

John laughed. "Why should I do that?"

"Just do it, and I will prove it to you," the other man said.

Suddenly serious again, John stretched out his hand for Mycroft to take.

The other man took it in both of his and just held it, softly stroking it. "See?", he asked. "You are quite calm now. Not shaking. You just shot a man and you're not even nervous about it. Maybe about the legal consequences, but for yourself you know very well what's right and what's wrong. All of the adrenaline you feel when you're with my brother, everything you have to do then, you are not afraid of. You're not haunted by the war, John, you miss it. Welcome back."

For a moment, John didn't know what to say or do, but then he pulled his hand back. "Alright," he murmured. Mycroft just smiled down on him. He was scary, in a way, yet John was not afraid of him. Even though this man could be very powerful, the former army doctor had met men like him before. And he wasn't afraid of politicians.

And the existence of Mycroft was strangely comforting. A big brother watching over Sherlock. They probably didn't get on well, different as they were, but still Mycroft was THERE. And then the way he had touched John's hand, the way he had winked at him… John shook his head. He had to see if Sherlock really was alright. So he handed the weapon over to Mycroft and told him goodbye.

And of course the detective was alright. The police, who had arrived while John was busy talking to Mycroft, was oblivious to who might have shot the murderer and Sherlock seemed to find that hilarious. Laughing, they left the crime scene together. Mycroft didn't turn up again, which reinforced John's theory that the brothers' relationship wasn't the best.

When they were back at 221B Baker Street, Mrs. Hudson made them tea. The 'drug's bust' had left and John was optimistic that, with Mycroft's help, there would be no further questions asked as to what happened to the police officer's weapon.

After Mrs. Hudson had left as well, John turned his attention fully on Sherlock. "So you wouldn't actually have taken the pill, would you?"

"No, of course not," the detective answered, but it was clear that his thoughts already were on something else.

John looked at the younger man, who seemed to be lost in his tea, his eyes slightly glassy. "Wow, he's beautiful," he thought. "So about before… it was really nice, you know," John said.

"What was?", Sherlock asked, looking up at him.

"What you did with me… on the phone."

The detective frowned. "I don't know what you are talking about. I have an experiment to work on." With that, he got up and started walking towards the kitchen.

John frowned at his new flat mate's back and got up himself. "I'll go upstairs, then. Need some sleep. Is it alright if I get my stuff tomorrow?"

"Sure," Sherlock said before disappearing into the kitchen.

When John was in his new room, he started thinking that maybe the messages were NOT from Sherlock. But that was impossible, wasn't it? Well, maybe they were from Mycroft. As a high rank government official, it should be easy to find out a mobile phone number. Of course, it would have been pretty pointless for Mycroft to pretend he was Sherlock when he was sexting John. But what if...

John remembered how Mycroft had acted before. He couldn't have been FLIRTING with him, could he? But a man like that… certainly it must be nice to be his boyfriend. Maybe that guy was wealthy. Then there would be expensive presents, dinners at expensive restaurants... It wasn't about the money, of course. Mycroft would be NORMAL and probably quite easy to live with. Not like his eccentric brother. And he was quite polite, what John liked about him. He closed his eyes and tried to imagine Mycroft's hand on his cock.

John whined and opened his eyes. What on earth was that? That had felt weird. Not sexy, definitely not sexy. He sighed. His phone buzzed. John almost shouted: "I WANT TO SLEEP!", but then just picked it up. If it was anything remotely sexy, he would just ignore it.

"Sorry. SH"

John simply stared at that. What was that supposed to mean now? "Married to your work, eh?", he wrote back, more than a bit annoyed.

"I'm not good at… this."

"Being nice, you mean? I save your ass and you pretend whatever happened before didn't happen?"

"Can't we just... go on like this for a bit?"

At first, John had no clue what the detective meant by that, but then it became pretty obvious. "Take it slow, you mean?", he typed.

"Yea that and… the other thing."

John grinned. "So flat mates with benefits, eh?"

"I just don't want to do anything wrong… with you."

The former army doctor frowned at that. This actually sounded sad, not really a laughing matter. Had the detective ever had a relationship? And if so, had it been a painful experience for him?

"Of course. We can take it as slow as you want," he typed back. "But I need regular sexting. ;)"

"Sure you do. ;) But now you need sleep. Maybe morning sexting tomorrow."

"Sounds good. Nightynight."

"Night, my little soldier."

John smiled at that, maybe a bit sheepishly. Then he got ready for bed and was asleep even before his head hit the pillow.


	7. Chapter 7

John woke from the continued buzzing of his mobile. Growling, he picked it up and read the messages he had received:

"John, I'm awake. SH"

"John, are you awake? SH"

"John, I'm turned on. SH"

At the last one, John suddenly was wide awake. He replied:

"How turned on? JW"

"Have woken up with a boner about an hour ago. Tried rubbing myself against the sofa, but it didn't help."

John grinned at that and wrote: "You need something harder to rub off on."

"Yes, obviously. Your abs maybe?"

"Don't know if you can speak of 'abs' there. It's more like fat."

"Mycroft has fat. You have slightly hidden abs. But they are there; I have seen them."

"When?"

"Oh, in the way you move. You don't need to take your shirt off for me to see you are beautiful."

John slightly blushed at that. "Beautiful, Sherlock? Really?"

"Oh, not like… whoever normal people fancy. But normal is boring. You are beautiful. You have beautiful eyes and a beautiful arse."

John chuckled. "You only mention the important parts, don't you? But you've forgotten one."

"Your cock? Oh, I haven't seen that part of your body yet. But I'm guessing it's a beautiful specimen."

"Oh, it's alright. Is yours as long as the rest of your body?"

"Curious, aren't you? ;) But I won't tell you just yet. Are you comfortable?"

John stretched out on his side, then typed back: "Pretty comfortable, yes."

"Imagine you have just woken up and I was cuddling up behind you."

"You're a cuddler then?"

"Only when I want certain things. ;) And I'm reaching around you and start softly stroking your stomach through your shirt. Can you imagine that?"

"Yes, I can. Those long arms of yours really have their advantages. ;) And I can feel that you are 'interested'."

"Of course you can. I'm hard against your arse. I know you can feel it and I like that you can feel it. I'm pushing your shirt up now, stroking the bare skin underneath."

"You are really interested in my stomach, aren't you?"

"I'm interested in every part of you. Want to explore it. Want to fell it. Want to taste it."

John could feel himself twitching in his pants at that. That mouth… on him. For a moment he didn't know what to write back, but then he thought "what the hell" and wrote: "Your mouth on me… I would love that."

"Maybe later. ;) But for now I'm stroking your stomach, up, up, up, until I reach your breast, your shoulders. I can feel the muscles there."

"And my scar."

"And your scar, yes. I bet the skin is sensitive there."

John frowned at that, not sure he liked that thought. But then, he had been afraid of scaring people off with his scar, of making them pity him... but Sherlock seemed to like it, even if he hadn't seen it yet. "You want to see it?", John typed.

"Of course, I want to see everything."

"No, I mean when we're not doing… this. Do you want to see it?"

"Yes. Should be interesting. You can show me later. But for now, let's turn out attention to you nipples."

John smiled. "You like to play with them?"

"Yes. In fact, could you play with them for me? I think they need more attention then you usually give them."

"Oh, you just made that up. You can't deduce something like that." But John complied, sliding his free hand under his shirt and started rubbing his nipples softly; first one, then the other. Then he typed with his other hand: "Yes, that's quite good."

"Everyone neglects their nipples while masturbating. People just don't take their time to do it properly. That's hardly hard to deduce. And I'm so horny now, I put one leg on top of yours, improving my angle to hump your arse."

"Oh, that feels amazing, Sherlock. But I want your hand somewhere else..."

"I bet you do. But first I'm starting to kiss your neck, up to your ear, softly nibbling at the lobe."

"You don't do anything in halves, do you? Oh, you're amazing. I'm stretching my arm out now, so I can reach your bum. It's a close thing, but I can just grab one of your beautifully round arse cheeks. "

"Nice move, panther. I hold still so you can massage it properly. But it's hard to hold back now. My hand wanders down, down, down."

"Oh yes, I know where you're going. Moan for me Sherlock."

"Hmmm, yes. John, you're so sexy. Oh. I'm rubbing off on your ass, always wanted to do that."

John hadn't even realized how hard he had gotten. He swallowed and typed back. "Oh God, that arse of yours. Feels amazing touching it."

"Did I mention I was naked?"

John almost let his mobile slip out of his hand. "For real?" He had a mind to just get up and run down the stairs, see that beautiful naked human being for himself.

"Don't even think of it! My hand is already inside of your pants. You are unable to move."

John couldn't suppress a moan. "Oh God, Sherlock, you don't know what you are doing to me."

"Oh, I know very well what I'm doing. ;) Now put your hand on your cock for me."

John complied. "You're touching yourself as well?"

"Oh no, I'm touching you. And only you. My cock has found the crease between your arse cheeks now. Feels so good."

"Oh my God, Sherlock. I'm so hard right now."

"My hand is now on your cock, stroking slowly."

John imitated what Sherlock wrote with his own hand. "More! Faster!"

"I am humping your ass properly now. I don't mind the fabric between us, but you do."

"So I'm stopping you for a second and push my pants down with one hand." John did so.

"But just far enough for our purposes. You're in a hurry. And so am I. My humping is speeding up. "

"And so is your hand. It feels so good on my cock. I'm pushing back against your hard-on, enjoying the friction."

"Oh, this is brilliant. You almost made me come with that. I'm already leaking. And I'm getting so loud now. I can't hold back any longer."

John was increasing the pace of his hand on his cock. "Do it, then. Come for me."

"Not yet. But almost. Ngh. Almost there."

"God, Sherlock, you sound so good. That voice really drives me crazy. And do you want to suck on my neck some more?"

"Oh, yes. I like that. I'm already practicing to suck you off. I love it to have things in my mouth. Sometimes I just suck on my fingers and pretend it's a cock."

"Jesus, Sherlock, I'm almost bursting. My balls feel so full right now. I want to feel you spill on my arse."

"John, yes, oh. I'm speeding up my humping even more, moaning your name, wanking you real good."

John held his hand while pushing into it, pretending it was Sherlock's. "Just tell me when you're there, cause my balls are turning blue right now. And I'm not coming without you. Want your sperm to trigger my orgasm."

"Almost there."

"Yes, shoot your sperm on me, Sherlock!"

"There!"

The image of the detective coming against him was so vivid in John's brain that it made him moan. He pushed into his hand quicker and quicker, until he came with a shout. His mobile buzzed in his other hand.

"Oh God, this was amazing. Never came so hard before. And I've heard you coming as well."

"You lied, though."

"Did I?"

"You did touch yourself, didn't you?"

"No, I didn't. But I did lie, I'm wearing pants. That friction is usually enough, though."

"You just… came in your pants. Without touching yourself?"

"Yes, I did. Want proof?"

"God, yes."


	8. Chapter 8

Since Afghanistan, John was afraid of starving. Even when safe at home, the slightest grumble of his stomach could make him loose his nerve.

Not that starving had been a real threat in the army. But there had been times when he just could not eat, because the situation had not allowed it. Eating while shooting was just as impossible as eating while stitching someone up, after all. And his stomach had been demanding at best times. But during his time in Afghanistan, John had sometimes thought he would loose his mind if he didn't eat something AT ONCE. It wasn't actually painful, but this empty feeling in his stomach and this NEED had filled his brain with silent screams, which had made it hard to concentrate, even if a situation had actually been so dangerous that adrenaline should make it impossible to think of your stomach. So when John thought of Afghanistan, one thing he remembered clearly was the hunger.

But he never told anyone. Because honestly? It was embarrassing. When thinking of the war, most soldiers would think of wounds, lost comrades and the general pointlessness of it all. John Watson thought of his ever-grumbling tummy and it made him feel like an embarrassed school girl with a weak bladder.

Embarrassed or not, John still was afraid of his grumbling stomach. So he made very sure he was full enough every time he went to bed. He even hid some dry biscuits in the drawer of his bedside table, in case he got hungry at night. Because it was just impossible going back to sleep after wandering around in his apartment to find something to eat. And every time that he had to get up to eat, it made him feel like a pregnant woman who couldn't help herself.

Nobody knew about John's 'problem'. But when John came downstairs right after his very satisfying wank, the former army doctor knew his secret wouldn't be safe for long. Because this time, John's stomach was not only grumbling, it was practically shouting and Sherlock, of all people, would realize that John's behaviour wasn't normal. Sherlock, who had not only been the reason why this wank had been satisfying but had also promised to send him proof that it was possible for the detective to come without touching himself. Because, under normal circumstances, John would be mortified by what had just happened between them. Either that, or still horny and willing to wait a bit longer for this 'proof'.

But John was just too hungry. He couldn't wait any longer. He was bloody starving! John didn't have any dinner, for Christ's sake. And then all of the running around... he was allowed a bit of hunger. So John went downstairs and tried to ignore the consulting detective who was still spread out on the couch. Or at least he tried to ignore him. Tried to ignore the fact that Sherlock was THERE. Meaning he must have jerked off in the living room, not in his bed. Tried to ignore the fact that the detective was probably half naked and still messy with come.

But John didn't look, of course. Because this wasn't decent. Because this wasn't what Sherlock wanted him to do… or so he thought. Because he had come down to EAT and not stare at half naked detectives, for Christ's sake. So John prepared breakfast and, just because is somehow seemed polite, prepared breakfast for Sherlock as well.

The moment John sat down to eat, Sherlock came into the kitchen. More decent than the former army doctor had expected him to be, the detective was wearing a dressing gown and a most uninterested expression. "Morning," John said, suddenly feeling pretty unreal. What do you say after wanking to your flat mate's texts? "Morning," Sherlock answered, frowning at the second plate and mug on the table. "I don't eat breakfast."

"At least have some tea," John encouraged, "You want to be fit for your next case, don't you?" The detective huffed at that, but sat down opposite John. He took his cup of tea, stared into it for a minute and then asked: "Do you feel guilty?"

John's heart skipped a beat. He hadn't thought he would have to talk about the sexting so soon. "No, of course not."

Sherlock looked up at him. "Not about that." He waved the thought away dismissively. "About eating. Do you think it will make you fat? Especially now that you aren't getting so much exercise anymore? Or do you think people will look strangely at you if your stomach is grumbling all the time?"

John swallowed. He hadn't expected the conversation to head that way, but maybe that was even worse. "Maybe a bit of both," he mumbled.

"People don't even realize," Sherlock simply stated, "They are too busy with their own problems to worry about other people. Besides, nobody is actually COUNTING how often they hear your stomach grumble, John. And do you really think, after last night, that you won't get enough exercise?"

For a moment, John thought the detective was talking about the sexting, but no, he must be talking about running. They had done a lot of running. "But you said your brother is fat," he said hesitantly, "I don't really see any fat on him. And if you say HE is fat, where does this leave me…"

Sherlock huffed again, then sipped on his tea. "He is not fat YET, but he won't keep to his diet for much longer now. Binge-eating and binge-dieting never served him well. Besides, he's too fond of cake and not fond at all of any kind of exercise. And it's easier for him to pull this off because he is tall."

"So being small makes me look fat quicker?", John asked with a smirk.

"You're not fat, John, and you never will be. Now eat your toast, we have work to do," Sherlock said, pushing his toast towards John as well. With that, the detective got up, taking his tea with him into the living room, were he started typing furiously on his laptop.

John smiled to himself. Somehow he had the feeling he had just been complimented. He certainly didn't feel as useless anymore. Not like this pointless big blob which just sat at home doing nothing. He had a purpose now. And if his only purpose was to listen to the detective, this was just fine with him. John would still look for a job as a doctor, but he didn't feel anymore like his life depended on finding an interesting job which also paid well.


	9. Chapter 9

They passed the day sitting in the living room, both writing on their laptops. Sherlock was working on a case and John tried to write as many job applications as possible. Every now and again, he stole a glance at the detective, who was clearly a quicker writer than the John. The doctor wasn't slow either, but he couldn't keep up with Sherlock's furious typing if his life depended on it.

Of course, the typing wasn't the only reason why John couldn't keep his eyes from his flatmate. Those cheekbones were killing him! And the full lips… the pale eyes…the long eyelashes… John drank in every detail he could. The detective had to realize he was being watched, but he didn't seem to mind.

When John was done with his job applications, he surfed the internet for a bit, but soon started to feel uncomfortable doing nothing while sitting next to Sherlock. So he decided to write on his blog. There had been a lot happening the other day, so he should be able to write SOMETHING.

The 'something' spread out over 2 hours and brought him 12 new followers. John was so emerged in his writing that he only realized the typing from the other laptop had stopped when Sherlock was suddenly standing behind him. John could feel the detective's breath on his neck as Sherlock was scanning the text, which caused a tingly feeling in the doctor's stomach.

Then Sherlock's voice almost made him jump. "That Lady in Pink. Really, John?" "She WAS dressed all in pink, which was kind of unusual," the doctor justified himself. The detective only growled in reply. When Sherlock was finished reading, he moved away from John again and walked into the kitchen without further comment.

John couldn't say if the detective liked the blog or not, but strangely enough he didn't even care. He just wanted Sherlock back, standing that close behind him. He would make writing up cases a regular thing, then. Maybe the detective wouldn't be interested every time, but this tingly feeling, maybe once a week? Hell, John would do much more than write for two hours for that.

When the doctor looked out of the window, he realized that it was already getting dark. He had been on his laptop for the whole day. And he didn't even regret it, even though his neck and back felt a bit stiff. "Want me to get some Chinese for dinner?", he shouted into the kitchen. "Indian," came the prompt reply. John smirked. The detective didn't seem to know the word 'please'… yet. But sooner or later John would make him beg, he was sure of that.

John stretched, got up and put his shoes and jacket on. On his way to the Indian take away restaurant, he realized that the detective still owned him some 'proof'. How could he have forgotten that? But how should he ask Sherlock for it? Maybe the detective had also forgotten… Should he just text him now? Or later, after dinner? Suddenly, John was excited. He was really looking forward to this. And what would the proof be? A video? Or some life presentation?

John's breathing picked up and warmth started to spread in his abdomen. He wasn't sure he would survive that. What if he came home and Sherlock was half naked, touching - or not touching - himself? How was he supposed to react then? Just stand there and watch? Sit down and touch himself as well?

But the detective hadn't seemed to want to take their 'relationship' onto another level. So that wouldn't happen. Maybe nothing would happen at all. Maybe Sherlock had just been teasing. Maybe the detective was embarrassed of his actions by now and there wouldn't even be any more sexting.

By the time John got home, his mood had turned sour. He didn't even LIKE Indian food! And why did he have to get it? Yes, of course, because he had offered to. Why was he always the idiot who did everything for everyone? And he never got anything back. Sure, Sherlock had promised him something, but he wouldn't keep his promise, John was sure of that. People never did. He always did.

Sherlock just had to look at him once to see that there was something wrong. "You don't like rain, do you?", he asked, frowning. The doctor just frowned back. Sure, it had started to drizzle, but this was all the detective could come up with? "Well, I bet my surprise on your laptop will cheer you up," Sherlock said and disappeared into the kitchen again.

John stared at the empty space where the detective had been standing. Surprise? Laptop? Did this mean…? "John, you can watch it after dinner. Now, can I have my food?" Watch… watch! John's face lit up as if it was Christmas and he purposefully marched into the kitchen. Dinner, then sex… in the widest sense of the word. He couldn't remember the last time he had been looking forward to something like that. Suddenly he realized that he LOVED Indian food. Especially this one. It already smelled amazing.

While eating, the doctor looked over to the detective even more often than before. Sometimes Sherlock met his gaze and smiled at him. Wow, what a beautiful man! John was virtually buzzing with happiness. And he would watch him come undone. Just on screen, of course, but he bet that nobody had seen that before either. He would be the first. Well, maybe not... But what if?

John stopped chewing mid-bite. "Sherlock, have you ever…?", he started, then regretted it at once.

The detective frowned at him. "Whatever your question is, the answer is 'no', but I don't want to talk about it."

"Right," John said, "And will you ever… want to talk about it?"

"Maybe," the detective smiled, "and now eat your dinner, it's getting cold. And your 'dessert' is already waiting for you."

John swallowed drily, said "right" again and made to eat the rest of his dinner as quickly as possible. Then he got up, grabbed his laptop and dashed upstairs to his room. He didn't even feel embarrassed about it. Sherlock was ok with it, after all. And he was probably wanking too right now.

The only thing John regretted was that he hadn't risked a casual glance between the detective's legs. Sherlock's trousers had been tight enough, maybe he could have seen something beautiful.


	10. Chapter 10

John got out of his trousers and shirt, taking his time. He had time now, after all. And he wanted this to feel perfect. He wanted to be relaxed for it. So he turned his laptop on, laid it on the one end of the bed and pillows on the other. As soon as his laptop had finished booting, John entered his password, sat down on the bed and started looking for whatever Sherlock had left for him. Maybe he had put it in 'videos'? Or in 'documents'? Or maybe the detective had tried to be funny and put it next to his porn, in 'family pictures'?

John started to panic when he couldn't find anything at once. What if Sherlock had just made fun of him and there wasn't actually anything there? Or it would be so hard to find that John would sit here all evening, not finding anything and his balls slowly turning blue?

But then the doctor realized that there was a new icon on his laptop, saying 'click me'. John huffed in relieve and shook his head at his own stupidity. "Hid in plain sight, didn't you, Sherlock?", he murmured. John clicked on the icon and his video player opened up. "YES!", he almost shouted, then giggled at himself. Really! Like a little boy at Christmas.

John leaned back on his pillows when the video started. The first thing he could see was Sherlock's face, as he was adjusting the camera, but that was soon replaced by the lower half of the detective's body. Sherlock was only dressed in tight, dark-grey boxers, which accentuated his light complexion. The detective lay down on the sofa and let one of his hands rest lightly on the rim of his pants, the other on his stomach.

John swallowed. Now he would see it. He would actually see his flatmate get off!

The detective started moving slowly, lifting his hips and then lying back again on the sofa. The bulge John had been staring at started to stir.

The doctor swallowed again and wished he had taken something to drink upstairs.

The stirring in Sherlock's pants was now more obvious and soon the detective was fully erect. He then lifted the rim of his boxers slightly...

John held his breath. But Sherlock had promised not to touch himself! Or would he?

But soon the reason of the detective's move became apparent, as his cock sprang free, but was at once covered by the boxers again. Now Sherlock's stiff penis pointed to the detective's face which had to improve the efficiency of Sherlock's moves. The angle of the camera hadn't allowed any view of Sherlock's cock, though. Darn those boxers!

The doctor remembered what he was watching the video for and pushed his hand into his pants. God, he was hard already. He leaned forward for a moment and checked the duration of the video. 8 minutes! He would never last that long!

The detective now increased the pace of his movements. His hands moved to his sides and grabbed the blanket lying under him.

John lay back again and enjoyed the show, moving the hand on his cock as slowly as possible.

Sherlock increased the pace even further and grabbed the sheet tighter. And God, his cock was big! Long and hard, slightly curved.

The doctor licked his lips. He was already leaking like mad and had only watched half of the video so far. But then he didn't really have to worry about coming first, this time. Even though he really wanted to watch Sherlock coming before finding his own release.

The detective was humping the air now in a mesmerizing rhythm. Up, down, up, down….

John gave up on suppressing his moans. This was when he realized that his laptop's sound was off. Did the video have any sound? The doctor's heart almost stopped at the thought. For a moment, he didn't even WANT to know for fear of fainting or suffering a heart attack. But then the second brain between his legs took over and he leaned forward again to press the right button.

And yes, there was sound! Oh, and what sound! The detective was moaning loudly, making John forget everything else around him. Sherlock's movements got more and more erratic and his moaning got louder. "Yes, John! Oh God, yes!"

His name! The detective was shouting HIS NAME!

Suddenly, the detective stiffened, moaning loudly, and then stilled. When he had lain back down, he lifted the rim of his pants with his right hand and pushed it slightly down, so that a trail of sperm and his now soft cock became visible.

At that, John shuddered and came. His moan was so loud, he was almost screaming. But it felt oh so good. "Sherlock," he murmured.

When he had his breath back, he realized that he had not only made it to the end of the video, but had also forgotten to move the hand on his prick. He was still hunched over his laptop and hadn't even lain back into his pillows. John had come in his pants, just like that.

The doctor leaned even closer to his laptop's screen and softly kissed the stomach of his flatmate on the screen. Now the video had ended, something seemed to be strange with it. It took John's orgasm-meddled brain a while to realize what it was: There was no sheet on the sofa this morning! Of course Sherlock could have removed it, but the sheet in itself was a bit strange, wasn't it? As the detective hadn't removed his boxers, there had been no mess to keep away from the sofa... He could have PLANNED to take his boxers off, which would be perfectly reasonable with any other human being, but Sherlock usually stuck to his plans. And then those boxers… They went too high up on the detective's body to fit under the trousers he had worn the other day. Maybe his shirt would make them invisible… but maybe not. It was impractical, at least. Did that mean he had put them on especially for the occasion?

That, or the video had simply been record at some other point in the past. But for which purpose? To show it to someone? To show it to him? HAD it already been shown to someone else? John didn't like the thought… He checked the date on the file, which didn't have to mean anything, of course, but…

John stared at the screen, unable to tear his gaze away. That was the date they had first met! And the time… yes, this must have been only minutes after they had met! So Sherlock had… what? Gone directly home and gotten himself off in front of a camera? Thinking about… John?

Suddenly, the doctor wanted another go. He clicked 'play' once more.


	11. Chapter 11

The next day was almost uneventful. Well, as uneventful as living with Sherlock got. Whenever John looked at the detective, it sent sparks through his blood and whenever their eyes met, those sparks were joined by a warm feeling in the pit of his stomach. And every time the detective talked about someone else, even if that 'someone' was just a case, it made John feel strangely jealous. Which was probably what love was all about.

The doctor had been 'in love' before, all right. But it had been those kind of relationships you just had, because you needed closure, or sex, or whatever else a relationship had to offer. John had almost thought that this was what love was all about. At least as long as he hadn't known anybody he could look up to. He had met this military Sergeant, who had been so much more than what he could ever hope for. Married, of course, and gorgeous. Maybe not even all that nice. But the thought of being with someone like him had left John breathless. Some nights, when he couldn't fall asleep he had almost thought that there was hope. And this hope had left a tingly feeling in his stomach.

Now that there was more than just hope, it left John paranoid. Well, of course the detective wasn't someone who was easy to live with, probably not someone easy to have a relationship with, and maybe John would never have something like a 'normal' relationship with him. But the former army doctor could live with that. But there had to be something else, something destructive. Something John could not live with.

Maybe Sherlock was into sado-maso, that would be just John's luck. Maybe the detective wanted to be physically hurt. Maybe in a way the former army doctor could never hurt him. He was sure he could never hit anyone, not really. He had heard about relationships like that and they had always seemed destructive, like something which couldn't last or would lead to one of the partners being damaged beyond repair. Because as a doctor, he always questioned the reason behind the need to be hit or otherwise hurt. Was it because of some previous abuse? Or because they had not gotten any appreciation when they were younger? Maybe, just maybe, relationships like that could work out. But John didn't think he could be in a relationship like that. He had heard too much, experienced enough. His guilt would be too big if he hurt anyone, even if that someone asked him to. And he didn't enjoy himself to be hurt.

But why did he even think Sherlock would enjoy something like that? Maybe because the detective seemed to be such an extreme personality who just couldn't enjoy 'normal' things. So it was either virgin sex or sado-maso. And Sherlock surely didn't seem like a virgin. But then maybe... Could you actually enjoy a lot of masturbation, never be touched, know how to turn someone else on without ever having experienced sex? Sex with someone else, that was, because sex was... sex. With a woman you can actually SEE if she was still a virgin or not, but with a man you can't. So is there actually something like a 'male virgin'? If you had never touched yourself, sure, but if you never had sex with someone else? John knew women who were the most prudish, even though they had sex with him. But he was sure they never touched themselves and maybe only had sex with him because it was something you did in a relationship. Others he had never slept with maybe touched themselves three times a day… ok, they couldn't get pregnant from that but could you really describe them as virgins, even if they never slept with a man? They could have the filthiest thoughts…

And Sherlock probably had the filthiest thoughts… he just never acted on them. Well, he did, in a way, but not in the 'usual' way. But then the usual way maybe wasn't necessary at all. John could imagine 'sleeping with Sherlock' like that for a long time, but then there would be a time at which he wouldn't be able to resist the beautiful detective. And how would his flat mate react to that? Would he be angry, maybe even want him to move out? Would he actually enjoy 'real sex'? Would it be a bad or a good thing to take his virginity?

The former army doctor certainly didn't know how to behave with Sherlock. There weren't any rules there and if there were they needed to be broken. It wasn't just the John never had been with a man, it was also that he had never met SUCH a man. And then he didn't know if he actually WAS with Sherlock, or if he just was one of the detective's pass-times. It all depended on the detective having done this with/to someone else or not. So John had to ask him. So John had to speak to him about that. Which he didn't really want to, because he was kind of afraid of the answer.

He wanted to be Sherlock's 'first one', of course, but he was also afraid of hurting the man. Sherlock seemed to be so vulnerable when he showed feelings. And he had especially asked to take it slow. John simply didn't know what to do about that. Because with a woman, taking it slow meant long dates and romantic candle light. With the detective it meant chasing a criminal during the day and then phone sex during the night / in the morning. But was this really taking it slow? And was this really something which was good for them?

Maybe John just worried too much. Other people would enjoy a situation like this. But then he had never been one to simply enjoy a situation. He could enjoy his tea, of course, or some especially good jam, a TV show, maybe, or a long kiss, but not an extended relationship. He always found something bad about it, or, if there wasn't anything bad about it, he made something up. Sometimes he hated himself for that, but at other times he just accepted that as being something he was. He was a doctor; he needed to be worried all the time! That was why he always had been a good doctor. Because he had worried about his patients, even if they seemed to be fine. Because he had gone back to them three times a day, even if they seemed to recover. Maybe this saved only one in ten soldier's lives, but without his worry, this one in ten would have certainly died.

So John was actually quite proud of himself sometimes. Sometimes he could even stand in front of a mirror and appreciate the weight he had gained. Surely, he wasn't the same man as he had been before Afghanistan, but he was a new man now. And there was more of him to love. He had always hated that sentence, but it was oh so true: you couldn't make love to a skeleton. And a few pounds more surely didn't matter. If they didn't matter to Sherlock, of all people, they couldn't be that important. And the detective himself didn't go to fitness centres or anything. He was gorgeous, of course, but John was almost certain that the detective wouldn't care if his body wouldn't be that perfect. It was just looks and Sherlock wasn't that superficial.

One of his former girlfriends had told John he was a bit chubby, but he just couldn't imagine Sherlock telling him that. And just like that, the former army doctor started to feel a bit more relaxed about their relationship. Maybe it didn't matter if they slept with each other or not, if they went on dates or not or if Sherlock really was a virgin. It was all just superficial stuff, after all. It just mattered that John did the best he could. Because this was what he had always done. And because this had always lead to success in the past.

John looked up from his eggnog and saw Sherlock standing in the kitchen door. "Enjoying Mrs. Hudson's gift, aren't you?", the detective smirked. The doctor looked down looked down at his glass, then at the bottle which was already half-empty. And he didn't even like eggnog that much. He had thought their landlady's moving-in present would stand in the cupboard for an eternity. And then drinking during the day wasn't his thing at all. But then it was sweet and went so well with the cookies John had bought from the bakery the other day.

Suddenly, Sherlock was kneeling in front of him on the floor. Those eyes! "John, you're drunk," Sherlock stated. "Oh, really?", John grinned, "Have you deduced that?"

"Shut up and close your eyes, you need some treatment," the detective growled.

John swallowed hard but complied. He leaned back when his zip was opened and a warm hand freed his already half hard cock. Alcohol didn't seem to have much influence on THIS part of him today.

Soon, his hard-on was engulfed in wet heat and John moaned loudly. So good! Christmas should always be like that!... Christmas? Was it already Christmas? Was it winter when they moved in?

But John's thoughts quickly snapped back to his raging hard-on. "Faster," he said and then added, appreciatively, "yes, like that, hmmmm, so good. Such a good boy. Suck me hard. Nnnngh."

John was already close and wondered if the detective would swallow and if he should warn him. But then he didn't want to ruin this moment by stating the obvious.

So he just let go and climaxed in Sherlock's mouth, shooting sperm down his throat.

After calming down a bit, John opened his eyes and found himself in a dark, silent apartment. For a moment, he didn't know where he was, but then he realized that he had just woken up from a very nice dream. He put his hand between his legs and found the evidence of his dream. A very wet dream, it seemed. But when he palmed himself softly through his trousers, enjoying his post-orgasm bliss, he realized that his trousers were half-open. And the damp spot there was really just damp, as if he had climaxed somewhere else…


End file.
